


The Usual

by Lamsfan



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11370186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamsfan/pseuds/Lamsfan
Summary: Based on a prompt:It took Alex almost a month before he realized the drink he ordered at his new favorite coffee shop wasn’t on their menu.





	The Usual

Franklin’s, Alex’s favorite coffee shop, was closing. It was his favorite because the owner let him run a weekly tab and he settled up on paydays. It was the only coffee shop where the staff never bothered him if he fell asleep at the best table, with his case studies and text books scattered everywhere. It was the only coffee shop where he felt part of something. But now it is closing because Old Ben, the owner, wants to move to France, where he had done his military service and fallen in love.

Alex had to do well in school. Not only did he need good grades to keep his scholarship, he wanted to graduate in the fewest number of semesters possible. He had so much to do and didn’t want to waste time. And coffee was important to that. But here he is at Franklin’s, on the last day of September, wishing Old Ben ‘bon voyage’ and wondering where he was going to find his next cup of super hot, super strong Joe.

“Come on, Alex. I think I found a new coffee place. It is close to campus, it is open early and late, and it is always crowded. So it is either very good or it is very cheap, both of which would work for you.” Lafayette, Alex’s best friend, roommate and French exchange student, grabbed his hand and led him into the bustling coffee shop. It was beautiful and warm and cozy. There was the expected coffee bar with a selection of coffees, mochas and cappuccinos. There were high round tables with stools and comfortable areas with soft sofas and low tables. There was a man in one corner playing soft jazz tunes and an area where a woman was selling fresh baked goods. Alex could see how these things made this new shop, “The Spot,” attractive but he was only interested in the coffee, that is until he and Lafayette settled into a comfy couch and were approached by the most beautiful barista Alex had ever seen. He was tall, probably six feet, and clearly worked out, judging by the way his uniform shirt hugged his abs and biceps. He had piercing blue eyes that met Alex’s stare with a twinkle.

“You’re new here, right? I’m John. Is there anything I can help you with? We’re mostly self-serve, so just figure out what you want and head to that area to order. If you order a coffee, you’ll hear your name called when it is ready and you can pay for it and pick it up right there,” he said, pointing to the coffee bar. Alex was speechless and just staring, so Lafayette thanked John for his welcome. “Your friend seems a little out of it. Why don’t I bring you something to perk him up? On me.” 

“Oh, non, mon ami. That is not necessary. My friend, Alex, is always a little shy around new people, especially beautiful ones.” John felt his cheeks grow warm. Alex continued to stare at the man in front of him, his own face red. “I’m Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. But please call me Lafayette.” 

“Wow, that was a mouthful. Thanks for letting me use your nickname even though we just met. Makes me feel special,” John said with a smile. If Alex wasn’t a goner already, he was when he saw that smile. John’s whole face lit up and Alex hoped the twinkle was for him. I’m going to bring you something special. You’ll love it. Trust me.”

As John retreated to the coffee station, Lafayette nudged Alex back to the present. “Alexandre, what is wrong with you? Yes, our new friend is beautiful but could you not at least have said hello? I think he likes you.”

John returned with their drinks (but no bill) and it was the best coffee Alex had ever had. “What is this?” he asked. John just winked and went back to work.

Alex returned to “The Spot” a few times a week after that and finally found his voice. John always brought him what he referred to as Alex’s ‘usual.’ John would sit with him if the shop wasn’t busy and they would talk about their lives. Although Alex had a difficult history and didn’t share it with everyone, he found that John would listen without judgment, cover Alex’s hand with his own soft, warm one during the difficult passages, and encourage him that his hard work would pay off. John let Alex rant about his sworn enemies, Seabury and Jefferson, and never told him to calm down. People were always telling Alex he was too loud, too brash, too pushy. John just let him be who he was. And Alex could feel himself falling in love.

John shared his own history: how he had studied political science at his father’s request but really liked art. His father was disappointed that his eldest son would not join his law firm but he agreed to support John for one year after graduation while he ‘found himself,’ whatever that meant. For John, that meant working part-time at “The Spot” while taking art classes for practical knowledge and doing commissions for experience.

John was also falling for Alex but they both kept that part of their feelings out of their conversations. John thought Alex, with his blue-violet eyes, creamy skin with its smattering of freckles, and red hair whose ends looked like fire when they caught the sun, could never love someone like him.

After about a month, Alex needed a pick me up in the middle of the night. He had been working on his senior thesis all day and his eyes felt like sandpaper but he was convinced that if he could finish this last paragraph, all he would need to do was proofread, spell check and re-read it to make sure it actually made sense. He stumbled into “The Spot” and dragged his weary body to the counter. “What can I get you, sir?” the night barista asked. Alex looked at the menu and realized none of the descriptions fit the drink John had been bringing him all these weeks. “Honestly, I don’t even know. John is the only barista who ever makes my drink and he just calls it my ‘usual.’” 

“You’re Alex?” Alex nodded slowly, wondering how and why the barista knew his name. “I know what to make. Go pay for it, have a seat and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Okayyyy,” Alex said as he walked to his usual seat and tried to figure out what was going on. Just as he pulled out his phone to text Lafayette, the barista arrived with his coffee. It was perfect, as though John had made it himself. “Excuse me…um?” 

“Andre.” 

“Excuse me, Andre. How did you know my name and what to make?”

“Ha! I win the bet! We didn’t think you knew. That drink isn’t on the menu. John makes it just for you. He made us memorize it so we could make it for you if you ever came in while he wasn’t here.”

“But why?”

“Beats me,” Andre said with a smirk that said he absolutely knew why. Alex looked back at his phone.

>A. Ham: Laf, John has been making an off-menu drink for me all this time. Did you know?

>The Marquis: I suspected. He seemed quite taken with you the first time we went there. 

>A. Ham: Why would he do that?

>The Marquis: Did you not read what I just wrote? He likes you!

>A. Ham: I’ll call you later.

Alex put his phone away and practically sprinted home, his coffee forgotten on the table. It was a little after 2:00am and if he went to bed now, he could get four hours of sleep and not look like a zombie when he put his plan in motion. He awakened at 6:00am, showered and washed, conditioned and dried his hair, then brushed it until was soft and shiny. He dressed in his neatest button down shirt and khakis, grabbed his already packed messenger bag, and headed to the coffee shop. On his way, he stopped at the flower stand and picked up a small bouquet of blue flowers that the florist said symbolized hope, desire, and openness. 

He could see John inside wiping down the counter and his heart swelled. He took a deep calming breath…and…opened the door.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments but this is my first post (actually, the first thing I've ever written), so please be kind. Also please let me know if there are errors because that's just...embarrassing, lol.


End file.
